The Games Are On!
by GivenThePuzzleIWillDance
Summary: When life slows down at 221B, John has to find ways to entertain his sulky flatmate. Here is a series of ficlets dedicated to the shenanigans that the Baker Street boys and their friends get into when someone decides that entertainment is needed. Rated M for language and adult content in later chapters. Est. Johnlock, and several ships that will pop up. Enjoy!
1. Sorry!, John

**Hope you enjoy this starter! :D**

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It was a particularly nasty night, weather wise, and nights like these that weren't completely swamped with cases, or chasing after criminals through murky alleyways, was usually overtaken with games. Now, it wasn't an issue with John Watson to play board games, or video games for that matter; the issue resided within his insane boyfriend with only two extreme settings for games. Sherlock Holmes was either a completely manipulative, competitive, and frankly sore winner, or he was so uninterested in the game that John was forced to play on his own.

One particular night, when the rain was pouring outside and the streets were nearly still, John walked over to Sherlock with a large, rectangular box in hand and plopped it on top of his lover, who was stretched out on the sofa in an Olympic gold worthy sulk. Sherlock opened one eye and glanced down at the box and commenced to roll said eye.

"Really, John? Sorry?" he moaned, not at all interested in the silly game.

"Well, we aren't playing Cluedo, and you've turned down all of my previous offers. Now, I'm bored to tears, and you aren't helping. Just play one game with me, and we can call it a night."

Sherlock huffed out a long-suffering sigh and sat up slowly, pressing his face against John's belly as he teetered forward. John instinctively tangled his fingers into Sherlock's thick curls and breathed out at the now familiar weight.

"Promise?" Sherlock's voice came muffled from John's jumper.

"Promise," John smiled, "and we can even go down for a bit of a cuddle. That alright for you?"

Sherlock nodded and slid back into the sofa, putting the Sorry! box on the coffee table and setting the game up while John pushed his armchair closer to the table. Once they were situated, the couple started the game. Sherlock looked up at John with a smirk and chuckled as they drew the first card.

The game went swimmingly for the first few minutes. Sherlock was far ahead on the board, but John was certain he'd get the right card soon. John was fairly good at these games, and had beaten Sherlock a few times before. It was only a matter of time before he got a good card.

Twenty minutes into the game, and Sherlock already had three pegs in the HOME circle and was pretty close to winning. John had half of his pegs in and only needed one Sorry! card to get ahead of the game. John's peg was right in front of Sherlock's HOME box, and the acclaimed army doctor was internally begging for that one card, because Sherlock was three spaces away from John's HOME box.

A few moments later, Sherlock looked up at John and smiled.

"What are you smirking at, Sherlock?" John asked, slightly irritably, due to the lack of luck at this bloody game.

"John, do you know how much I love you?"

"Sherlock, what…"

"Sorry!"

"What the…!"

Sherlock knocked John's peg out of the way and put it back in the START circle. John ground his teeth and gave Sherlock a murderous look.

"You utter bastard!"

"Well, I can hardly help it if I had more fortune than you, John."

"You didn't have to completely knock me off the board!" John growled.

Sherlock smirked and handed John his next card without looking at it. John took one look at the card and growled, putting it down on the used deck. He glowered at Sherlock and waited for the next turn.

"You know, John, this game really is relatively simple to win. You just have to play your cards right."

"Wait, you mean you _actually devised_ a way to win this game?"

"It's really easy, John. I'm honestly surprised you haven't caught on yet."

"One more word, Sherlock, and you'll regret it."

"Please, John. Are you really getting upset over a silly board game?"

What happened next was not entirely pleasant, or mature of John Hamish Watson, but he'd be dammed playing a game like this against Sherlock Bloody Holmes. While John was busy throwing his pajama bottoms on (Sherlock was NOT getting a leg over tonight), Sherlock was busy untangling Sorry! pegs from of his hair.


	2. Guitar Heroes

**Sorry, the game kinda got lost in all the story line. My bad. :/ Oh well, it's my story. Why am I apologizing? X3 I hope you enjoy it anyways! XOXO**

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Sherlock sat still with his hands under his chin, staring into his mind palace while John was busy rounding up a seven year old and his twelve year old sister for dinner. Sherlock was highly displeased with the turn of events and completely blamed his lack of a night dedicated to sex on Greg Lestrade and his need for _baby sitters_.

To John, being friends with Gregory Lestrade had its perks, and he was a wonderful friend to have. The doctor always enjoyed his Thursday night pints with the Detective Inspector, and they had grown closer as friends over the years. So when Greg called in asking for a favour, John readily accepted, as a good friend would.

It was about three in the afternoon when Greg called John's mobile frantically.

"Hello?"

"John, mate, I need your help."

"It's Mycroft."

There was a slight pause, and John felt like panicking slightly.

"God, are you two alright?"

"Yeah, we're fine, it's just," Greg sighed out, "he set up a reservation for us for dinner on short notice as a surprise. That's all fine, but he didn't take into account that the kids would be staying with me this weekend. I don't know. With him, he probably knew what pajamas they packed before they even told their mum."

"Yeah, probably." John chuckled.

"So, I was just wondering, would you mind watching the kids tonight while Myc and I go out? We'll be back by eleven at least."

"Yeah, yeah we can do that. It's not a problem at all." John smiled over the phone. He'd met Greg's kids once before, and they were charming children.

"Oh, thank you so much, mate! I owe you one." Greg sighed in relief.

Now it was eight o'clock and there were three bodies sitting at the kitchen table. John and the kids were sitting down to a meal of fish fingers and chips, laughing about some off the wall comment that Christian (the seven year old) made and Jennifer's (the twelve year old) response. John sat back in his chair and giggled at the silly manor of the children, a fun change of pace from Sherlock's sulky persona when they were out of cases.

Sherlock opened his eyes and stood up from the armchair in which he was residing, and promptly walked behind John and put his hands on his lover's shoulders.

"Don't they have homework or something to do?" Sherlock asked, knowing right well that Jennifer had maths homework and Christian was nowhere near finished with his science homework.

John looked over at the sheepish children and gave them a nod.

"Alright, clean your plates and get to it." John directed while picking up his own plate after Sherlock stole a chip off of it, "Can't have dad getting home and thinking we're bad sitters, now can we?"

Christian's eyes widened, horrified at the thought of Dad and Mycroft not liking John as his sitter. Shaking his head vehemently, the seven year old sprinted back to his room and pulled out his homework.

John looked over to Jennifer to see her shyly looking at him and Sherlock. The doctor smiled for her and tilted his head politely.

"Do you need help with your maths, sweetheart?"

"No, I know how to do it. I was just gonna ask something." She trailed off, apparently very shy in Sherlock's presence.

"Ask away."

"Well, uh, I was wondering…would you and Mr. Sherlock play Guitar Hero with us after Chris and I are done with our work?"

John looked taken aback and tilted his head a little.

"The video game?"

"Uh huh! That one!" She grinned, thankful for his recognition.

Sherlock snorted and started walking towards the sitting room, clearly uninterested.

"Why yes, Sherlock and I would love to play with you and Chris." John said loud enough to make sure that Sherlock heard his message. _Please don't make me play a ridiculous video game by myself._

Sherlock rolled his eyes and flopped into the armchair. With John's plea completely ignored, Sherlock started to delve back into his mind palace. Before he could get comfortable, though, he felt a soft tug at his jacket sleeve. The detective opened one eye and looked into the hopeful eyes of a shaggy haired boy with a science packet in his hands.

"Mr. Sherlock, can you help me with my homework?" he asked as politely as possible, throwing a winning smile in for good measure.

Sherlock glanced at the packet and saw that it was a fill-out sheet for the anatomy of vegetation. With a soft sigh, Sherlock resigned to helping the young boy with his studies.

About thirty minutes later, both of the children had finished their work and were practically begging to play Guitar Hero. As it turned out, Sherlock enjoyed teaching Christian botany. He was a bright little lad and soaked up Sherlock's words like a sponge. Of course, it helped that Christian's eyes grew wide at one particular observation and he whispered,

"Wow, you must be a super genius, or something!"

By the time the game was set up, each resident in the flat had a plastic guitar, drum set, or microphone on their person for the game. The group spent about an hour playing songs and laughing about scores before the children started becoming bleary eyed from the telly screen and commenced to yawning. Sherlock glanced at John with a secret message, and John nodded. They both knew exactly where this was going.

When Greg Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes walked into their flat, full and happy and relaxed, they found the kids cuddled up on the couch, heads lolled back and mouths open, school clothes _still_ on, and sound asleep. They also found Sherlock and John battling to the death on the plastic guitars; Sherlock's score was slightly higher than John's.

Mycroft cleared his throat and gave the two grown men a raised eyebrow of concern as Sherlock looked away for just a second at John (who had been swaying his hips tantalizingly for the past hour to the music), giving John the advantage. With one good hip bump, John threw Sherlock off guard and boosted his score just enough to beat Sherlock marginally at their current song.

Sherlock opened his mouth to give John a good, _colorful_, tongue-lashing, when Greg shushed him and scooped his son up in his arms to go to bed. Mycroft gently helped Jennifer off of the couch and sent her down the hallway for bed, then looked over at John and Sherlock.

Needless to say, John and Sherlock weren't allowed to play video games at the Lestrade/Holmes household while babysitting again. Though, to be fair, John and Sherlock probably wouldn't endeavor to play Guitar Hero again, as Sherlock was highly pissed at John. Sherlock's pique of anger was made very apparent when they went to bed and John found himself cuddling against a rather large pillow instead of his boyfriend.


	3. Twisted

**I have returned from my absence. I feel like I've abandoned this poor story! It's not though. So sorry to any who have been waiting.**

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Lestrade stared in utter disbelief at the two men in the living area of 221b Baker Street. Taking a deep breath, the DI gathered his thoughts and stepped back mentally. He knew he'd flown up the stairs of 221b in a fury of speed and intensity, worried for his friends. He'd gotten a text from Sherlock, requesting (demanding) his assistance with John, and Lestrade immediately assumed the worst. He knew he'd been prepared to burst through the door and save the day, but found the door wide open to reveal exactly what was going on. Apparently, Lestrade hadn't learned a thing by now because he and John were both highly flustered with a certain consulting detective.

"Sherlock, I told you, we have the CD! This is really what you texted Greg for?"

"Well the CD doesn't work as well. It's already done, there's no chance to it. Besides, if we decide to finish, we'll have learned choreography, not played a game! With Lestrade here, we have chance and a better time as well." Sherlock snapped back, bumping his hip against John's shoulder in an attempt to knock him off balance.

Lestrade stepped in and glared down at the overgrown, pouting toddler still wearing his suit, despite his activities.

"You texted me…to assist you and John…in a game of Twister!? Really, Sherlock!"

Surely as he lived and breathed, Lestrade was staring at a ridiculous, obscene, and well…twisted game of Twister. John had one leg tucked completely underneath him, with the other leg stretched across the mat, his foot beneath Sherlock's shoulder, and his arms spread in front of him. Sherlock, on the other hand, had one hand near his head, his arm contorted in a strange fashion while his other arm rested on the floor, keeping him up. The detective's legs were spread to contend with his weight distribution with one leg on the far left corner and his other leg near John's head.

"Lestrade, this is for a bet, one that we would like to win, so if you please, pick up the spinner and call out the stupid colors."

"Hold on, what bet?"

"We bet a case of Mexican beer," John elaborated, "against Mrs. Turners 'married ones'. Whoever could successfully play a full game of Twister without falling gets the beer. Some sort of way to out-gay us, I don't know."

"All he knows is that he wants imported beer from Mexico." Sherlock snorted.

"That and we've been at this for far too long." John complained.

Lestrade hardly suppressed his laugh by snorting.

"How exactly are you two going to prove you didn't fall? What exactly constitutes a 'full game' and d'you have a camera or something?"

Sherlock nodded towards the laptop that was on record. The blinking red light confirmed that they had been recording themselves with the CD, and that Sherlock had texted Lestrade.

"Wait a moment," Lestrade asked, "how did you text me if you two have been like…this?"

"Oh use your imagination, Lestrade. An entire game constitutes seventy moves. We are at move number twelve." Sherlock snapped, his back feeling as if it would spasm and make himself and John fall. John would be disappointed if they lost the bet. "Just hurry and help us move."

Lestrade shook his head and knelt down by his friend, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"Let me try a beer and I might help out."

John nodded his head and said deal, sounding for the entire world like he was in pain. He probably was, his legs all contorted like that.

And so it began. Lestrade called out the color that the spinner landed on, "Right foot green", and watched as the two men maneuvered themselves in a hilarious fashion. For close to an hour this went on; left foot blue, right hand yellow, left hand red, right hand red, left foot yellow, right foot blue. So on and so forth until the completely 'innocent' game nearly looked like a macabre torture session.

John looked as if he'd be sick, his legs crossed over themselves in a strange position, and one of Sherlock's legs underneath him. Sherlock looked exhausted, his arms shaking after nearly an hour and a half of holding himself up.

Lestrade had to admire John's dedication to Mexican beer and Sherlock's dedication to John.

"Come on, guys, you're almost finished. Two moves to go."

John breathed out and steeled himself for the last two moves. He could do it. He could. He could do it and rub it in those bastards' faces that they were the stronger couple. No. He didn't really want that. He just wanted to try some damn imported beer. If he didn't like it, he'd probably give it to them anyways. Gathering his courage, John glanced at Lestrade and nodded.

"Right hand blue."

"Buggering fuck."

Lestrade tried to ignore the fact that Sherlock had just right out cursed, adding to the hilarity of the situation. Lestrade stifled his grin and watched as they moved into position. Honestly he felt a bit bad for them. They looked and sounded absolutely miserable.

"Last one, okay? Right hand red."

The final move! They'd done it! John reached over and slammed his hand on the red circle and Sherlock did the same. After holding the pose for the mandatory five seconds, both men collapsed onto the floor in a pile of sweaty, shaking limbs and pain filled groans.

"There, John! You got your fucking beer!" Sherlock bellowed as best as he could with John on top of him.

John breathed out a laugh and shakily grabbed Sherlock's hand to kiss it, but only succeeded in bringing it halfway before his arm gave out and their hands fell on his chest.

Lestrade laughed and went to help them up, seeing as they wouldn't want to move on their own for several minutes, an hour at least. The DI got John first, helping his friend into the acclaimed armchair, and clapped his shoulder.

"Good job, mate. I sure hope it's worth all that."

John laughed weakly, "Yeah. It should be good. All the reviews were at least nine stars of ten."

Lestrade nodded and moved to help Sherlock, but was stunned to find him…well…not at his feet. Glancing down the hall, Lestrade finally burst into tremendous laughter as he watched Sherlock struggle to pull himself/crawl down the hall into his and John's bedroom. He was a sight to see, that ridiculous man.

His face was pressed against the floor along with his shoulders and one arm dragging the floor. The other arm was working to get him to the room by his fingertips gripping the floor and pulling himself forward. Meanwhile, in the back region, Sherlock's butt was high in the air as he propelled himself by his toes and balls of his feet and his knees.

"Shut up, Lestrade!" Sherlock's muffled voice came from the floor.

Lestrade fell into Sherlock's chair and recounted the entire visual to John, who laughed just as hard at his lover's escape from the devil possessed game that still sat rumpled and innocent on the floor.

Sherlock simply slammed the door (well, closed it with as much force as he could muster) and drowned out his friend's and lover's laughter while he lay on his side on the carpet. After about ten minutes he yelled,

"John, the underside of the bed needs dusting!"


End file.
